


Fidelity

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Adultery, Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Groping, Infidelity, M/M, Meta, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23972212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: The door opened without the courtesy of a knock. Vergil lifted his head, turned away from the book he’d found, and glowered at the human passing through over the threshold.“It’s polite to knock before entering someone else’s room,” Vergil said quietly.“You’re in my home, Vergil,” Arkham replied drolly. “I believe I can go anywhere I please, however I want to proceed.”
Relationships: Arkham/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 64





	Fidelity

**Author's Note:**

> a lovely person over on twitter made this fic possible and it was a lot of fun writing it for him. hope yall enjoy!

The door opened without the courtesy of a knock. Vergil lifted his head, turned away from the book he’d found, and glowered at the human passing through over the threshold. 

“It’s polite to knock before entering someone else’s room,” Vergil said quietly. 

“You’re in my home, Vergil,” Arkham replied drolly. “I believe I can go anywhere I please, however I want to proceed.”

Vergil closed the book with a quiet snap. He could smell a power play forming in the atmosphere of the room, ripening like a thundercloud. He had thought he had grown accustomed to it already, but there was something about Arkham that stuck to the back of Vergil’s teeth like something sticky and bitter. The man was unsavory like that. If Vergil didn’t need his knowledge on the Temen-ni-gru, he would have done away with him long, long ago. 

“What do you want, Arkham?” he asked when it became clear that Arkham was more than ready to wander about the study without a word. Vergil crossed his legs and sat back in his chair, the very picture of grace beyond anything this mortal man could hope to achieve. He hoped it galled Arkham when he looked him in the eye. He hoped it burned him somewhere low and deep. “It’s not often that you visit me before dark.”

Arkham hummed, his lips twisting into a wry grin at the corners. He meandered through the bookshelves and drifted ever so slowly in Vergil’s direction. “Does that upset you?” he wondered, looking out the window just behind Vergil’s chair. It overlooked a city Vergil hadn’t had the chance to explore. He would look down at the streets occasionally and imagine that he was down below, wandering from storefront to storefront, experiencing the hustle and bustle, the pretense of human productivity. Arkham’s gaze shifted back to Vergil, reminding him of how far he was from such trivial musings. “Have you much with which to occupy yourself, Vergil?”

“Are you asking me if I’m lonely without your company?” Vergil scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You flatter yourself, Arkham. The pleasure of your presence isn’t much of a pleasure at all.”

“We are allies, you and I,” Arkham said easily. “We should solidify our alliance as often as we can, Vergil. Only with each other’s help will we see our goals realized.” He stood close now, too close. Vergil looked at him pointedly but Arkham didn’t back up. Instead he seemed to loom over him, bending slightly at the waist. “I ask again: are you bored, Vergil?”

There were layers to that question Vergil didn’t have the patience to probe. He raised a brow and scented something in the air between them, something primal, something thick. “That depends,” he answered slowly, rolling the words on his tongue. He watched Arkham lift a hand away from his side. His words came even slower as he watched it come towards him, “What sort of distraction are you offering me instead?”

Arkham took him by the chin and the world slowed to a crawl, the breath catching in Vergil’s throat. Ah. So, that was the man’s gambit. Vergil looked him in the eye and swallowed. They hadn’t been at this game long, but it was a simple one to pick up and even easier to learn to play well. 

Vergil licked his lips lightly and found his voice somewhere between a flicker of heat and building interest. “And with your family still awake and active down below. Eager for discovery, Arkham?”

The grip tightened, pulling Vergil from his chair and onto his knees. “Eager for release,” he corrected, his free hand unzipping his trousers and pulling his length into the open air. “Don’t tell me you’re content to sit here for the rest of the night with a book?” He pumped his cock once and Vergil’s eyes flicked towards the movement unbidden. Despite Arkham’s general unsavory-ness, he had yet to find fault in that particular part of him. “Come, Vergil. You know what to do.”

Baring his teeth earned Vergil little more than a renewed squeeze to his jaw. He let out a huff of indignation and parted his lips even as he glared. He didn’t appreciate the entitlement Arkham seemed to have taken up. When they first found themselves in this situation it had been a simple thing for Vergil to take control and seek his own pleasure, but now… 

Now, Arkham seemed more than willing to use Vergil in the pursuit of his personal pleasure. It hardly boded well for the future of their partnership, especially as Arkham eschewed common courtesy and slammed his cock down his throat without so much as a by-your-leave. 

Vergil’s eyes widened and his hands came up to grab at Arkham’s hips. In response, Arkham grabbed Vergil by the hair and kept his mouth exactly where it was. “Come now,” Arkham chided, his cock growing plump along Vergil’s tongue. “You can take a little roughness. You’re better than those beasts that need their fangs dulled and gentled by soft touches and the like.”

Was he complimenting him? Praising him? With his jaw stretched wide and a fevered heat burning his cheeks, Vergil couldn’t think those words meant anything kind. He clawed down the length of Arkham’s thighs and braced himself against the floor. The pain in his scalp and the pulsating weight on his tongue was… was fanning a flame in him he couldn’t quite quell. A frisson of  _ something  _ tore down his spine. He flattened himself against the floor and splayed out his legs. The pressure wasn’t strong enough to satisfy him. He bobbed his head and groaned a little. Arkham smiled. He smiled like he understood. 

“Yes. You are better than that. You’re a demon after all. A creature of the Id.” The taste of the man’s cock lit up a part of Vergil’s brain he couldn’t deny. He clenched around nothing and rubbed his crotch against the floor. There was a dampness forming between his legs. He closed his eyes as Arkham went on, “Do you not hunger for this, Vergil??”

Saliva poured down Vergil’s chin. His throat fluttered and gagged, but Arkham had him by the hair and his hold was stronger than Vergil’s discomfort. Maybe. It didn’t matter what the truth was. Heat was building in Vergil’s core. He rolled his hips forward and felt a gush of slick plaster his pants against his crotch. His next groan lasted longer than the others. Arkham’s dark eyes sparked and the next thrust lodged his cock down Vergil’s throat and stayed there. 

“You like this then?” the man asked, gripping Vergil with both hands when he tried to pull back. Arkham laughed quietly—the man wasn’t strong, not stronger than him, and they both knew it—when Vergil settled, throat constricting around his length, slick bleeding through the thin fabric of his trousers. “Ah yes. Son of Sparda, prince among demons. You like this, do you not? You relish the chance to be a mere human’s whore.”

Vergil’s eyes rolled back in his head. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t say no. He dragged his throbbing heat across the rug and rutted against it for relief. The sound of his fevered heartbeat rattled between his ears. Arkham laughed again as he attempted to smother Vergil insensate on his cock, his nose crushed in the bristly hairs at his base. He couldn’t say no, so that must mean that Arkham’s words were… 

Arkham didn’t let him pull off until black swirls swam before Vergil’s eyes. His words—if he in fact said anything—were lost in the sound of Vergil’s gagging, heaving wheezes, the human’s cock smearing wet lines along his cheekbone before he collapsed onto all fours in a heavy heap. The oxygen was too much too quickly, and it only sought to drunken him. His vision came back in bits and pieces. He looked up at Arkham and caught the man with a grin. 

“Beautiful,” he said plainly as if admiring a flower or painting. His other hand slowly stroked his cock, ruining the academic tone. He took a few steps back and leaned against the table situated by the wall. “On your knees suits you Vergil.” It should have given him a slouching, rumpled look, but it didn’t. Vergil alone was affected. 

“Sh-Shut up,” Vergil croaked. He blinked away the tears clinging to the corners of his eyes and fought to get up. The pronounced burn in his throat was going to follow him for the rest of the night; he’d felt it before, suffered this sort of indignity more times than he would ever admit to another living soul, and yet he still found his body aching for more. More of the abuse. Arkham didn’t offer him a hand or help him stand. He watched Vergil stumble to his feet instead, watched him find his footing and gasp for breath like a king surveying a peasant. Such a galling thought. Vergil pulled back his lips to snarl. 

Perhaps the damp spot sticking to his crotch lessened his intimidation factor because Arkham barely reacted to the threat at all. 

“Such a wanton thing you are, Vergil,” the man recited, pushing away from the table to circle like the predator he so wanted to be. “They say demons revel in the sins of man. Embody them.”

Wiping his chin, Vergil scoffed. “Get to the point.”

Arkham paused behind him. Vergil didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “The point, if I may be so bold to say, is that you are many things, Vergil,” he said in that oily voice of his, drifting closer, the heat of his breath tickling the back of Vergil’s neck. “What sins do you embody? Wrath? Pride?” His arms wrapped around Vergil’s waist. “Lust perhaps,” he whispered against Vergil’s ear. “Yes. A despotic harlot like you. Fitting, is it not?” 

Such filthy words. Filthy, insulting, debasing words— and Vergil still fought a shiver. He fought a renewed sense of urgency and need, and he didn’t protest it when the hands around his waist began to move, to fondle. Arkham stood only slightly taller than him, but like this, so close together and that lofty, infuriating tone between them… 

Something within Vergil, located in the deepest depths of his being, sublimated into the show of dehumanizing dominance. Perhaps it was simply the demon in him rising up and responding to instinct without thought. 

He looked down and again felt that sickly feeling rise up. Or perhaps it was something less intrinsic and more learned. Arkham’s hands moved quickly now, divulging him of his coat, unzipping the front of his vest, his shirt— He gasped openly when those same hands grabbed the bottom of his shirt and jerked it up, rucking it under his arms, baring his belly to the room. His chest heaved with every breath he took, heaved and trembled and jolted when Arkham grabbed him roughly in each grayed, mottled hand. 

His amulet hung heavily from his neck and glinted knowingly when he looked at it. A wellspring of shame tore through him in an instant, but there was no time to snap or shout, not when Arkham pinched his nipples and fondled him like a filthy old man let loose with no rein. 

“Such supple skin,” Arkham observed, his breath hot and heavy and  _ damp  _ against the back of Vergil’s neck. His grip turned mean, squeezing Vergil’s chest hard enough to hurt. “Soft, soft, soft.”

Mortification was a galling force, second only to the thigh between his own rubbing at him through the soaked fabric of his trousers. Vergil’s mouth hung open, his lips lax. His own voice betrayed him, emerging in a weak mewl that only seemed to encourage the disgusting, wrinkled hands in their conquest of his breasts. Vergil turned his gaze towards the ceiling to avoid the sight. There was something so… repulsive in looking at those disgusting hands against his pale, reddening, flawless skin. To think, he would let such a creature touch him— 

The thigh between his legs shifted. As if in response to his thoughts, Arkham’s hands moved away from his abused and peaked nipples. Vergil barely had the time to catch his breath though— not before Arkham was attacking the fly of his trousers, ripping them open, then down, down, down his legs. Vergil fell forward and caught himself on the edge of the table. He turned his head, snapped, “What do you think you’re—” 

“Soft everywhere, son of Sparda,” Arkham grunted like an animal as his hand cupped Vergil’s mound and silenced him better than any gag ever could. He used the hold to lift Vergil and unbalance him, and it made it a simple matter to bend him over the table, back arched and ass firmly lodged in the hollow of Arkham’s hips. His amulet clattered loudly against the wood, splayed out like a yoke weighing down his neck. Two fingers slid inside him easily. 

Vergil moaned pitifully. Arkham just groaned louder. 

“Soft,” the human panted, the sensation of his tongue tracing the line of Vergil’s ear following. “Soft and  _ wet.”  _

Filthy. Depraved. Vergil rocked into the fingers and let Arkham spread his legs with his knee. The slick heat of his cock drew a line along the flesh of his rear, along his crack, against his entrance. He whimpered as Arkham spread his lips with his fingers and guided his cock closer. Part of him wished the table wasn’t there; he wanted to watch it penetrate him. He wanted to see it as it happened—

But it was fine, he realized promptly as Arkham thrust forward and sank into his wet heat. It was fine because seeing it had nothing on feeling it, and by God, he was feeling it. Vergil’s jaw dropped and his eyelids fluttered, a reedy, crazed sound tearing free from his throat. Arkham made a noisy display of sucking his fingers clean before he wrapped his arms around Vergil’s waist and slotted them together without an ounce of kindness or consideration. The pressure was dizzying. Neither of them seemed to care. 

What came next came unspoken as Arkham eschewed courtesy and instead began thrusting without pause. The transition between stretch and friction struck Vergil in the solar plexus. It was so… much. So much, so soon. The mindless fever from before ratcheted high like a fire, the flames licking along his spine and dancing higher, higher, higher. Arkham felt bigger like this, layered over him and holding him down. He wasn’t strong enough to break Vergil, and he likely never would be, but like this… 

Like this it was easier to pretend. 

The table let out a groan as its legs skidded along the ground. Vergil threw back his head, saliva trickling down his chin. Arkham panted heavily in his exertion, fingertips digging into Vergil’s hips. They tried so hard to hold him in place, to bruise his skin, but no matter how hard he tried Vergil knew it wouldn’t be enough. He could break the hold at any moment, his skin too thick for a mere human to harm. The thought punched another moan from his chest. He pressed his cheek to the cool wooden table and arched his spine wantonly. Why did this feel so good? Why did it feel so satisfying to let such a disgusting creature hold him down like this, rutting into him like some kind of… of animal?

He tried to think. Tried to understand. He let out a cry and clawed at the wooden table. His heart pounded like a drum between his ears, drowning out the creaks of the house, the grunts of Arkham, the vague noise of the street so far down below...

But then came a knock on the door, and suddenly that was all that Vergil could concentrate on.

Vergil jolted. He sucked in a gasp as the doorknob rattled— 

“Arkham? Dear? Are you in here?”

A woman’s voice; Arkham’s wife. 

Vergil tried to pull away. “St—”

Arkham smothered Vergil with his hand, palm covering his mouth, his nose, his noises. He bent over Vergil, pressed his chest along the line of his arched spine, and pinned him with his weight even as his hips kept up the pace. “Yes, dear?” he called out, voice bland, unaffected. Vergil’s eyes threatened to roll back in his head. “What is it?”

The sound of the woman testing the locked door again rattled through Vergil like an electrical shock. “Why is the door locked?” she asked, a laugh tinging her unassuming voice. She had no idea. No earthly idea what was going on inside. Was she better for that ignorance? Worse?

Arkham rammed his hips forward, spearing Vergil so hard that his reply only just covered the reedy whine kissing the palm of his hand. “Sorry, dear,” he answered coolly. Vergil was running out of breath, his eyelids fluttering. He couldn’t stop clenching around Arkham’s length. “Just finishing up some research. I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

Vergil just barely caught the sound of a sigh. She wasn’t annoyed though. More like… humored. Like this was just a regular occurance she had long ago become accustomed to, even if she didn’t understand the logic behind it. “Come on, silly. Put down your book and come to dinner,” she coaxed, and Vergil found himself struck by a sudden dose of nostalgia. It was horrifically at odds to his present circumstances, the memory of his mother calling Dante and him in from their play-fighting. Thankfully he wasn’t able to concentrate on it for long; Arkham wore the mask of a family man even as he copulated with a demon, but the latter was far more distracting than the former could ever be for long. 

“I’ve made your favorite,” the wife tempted as her husband shoved his fingers inside Vergil’s drooling mouth. “It’ll grow cold.”

“Don’t worry,” Arkham soothed. He slowed his thrusts to a sluggish crawl, dragging so purposefully that Vergil couldn’t help but concentrate on every punishing inch as it was manipulated inside him. “This won’t take much longer.”

Her disappointed sigh was slight but audible. “Well, alright,” she said slowly. “Do try to hurry; I’m sure Mary will be home soon and you promised me you would try spending more time with her.”

Vergil gagged silently as Arkham’s fingers played with his tongue. “Of course, dear,” he said, dragging out until just the head of his cock remained inside. Vergil shuddered, clenching around it violently. Arkham let out a low, heavy sigh. “I’ll... come soon.”

If the woman walked away, Vergil didn’t hear it. If she said something else, he didn’t hear that either. His entire body focused on the pressure between his legs, on the drops of slick dripping down his inner thighs. His knees shook and trembled. He choked himself on Arkham’s fingers until they disappeared entirely. Great gasps of air did little to satisfy the burning need scorching his insides. Vergil braced himself against the table and tried to fuck himself on Arkham’s cock, only for the man—the  _ human— _ to pull back.  __

Pull back and  _ laugh.  _

“That desperate?” he mocked, swatting at Vergil’s ass as if he were a disobedient child in need of discipline. “Have I brought this demon low so soon?” 

Vergil let out a weak, wet snarl and bucked impatiently. “Why did you stop?”

Arkhan chuckled, teasing him with the slightest hint of movement. “Patience is a virtue, is it not? But perhaps I expect too much from demons like us; virtues are beyond the two of us, I’d imagine—”

Digging his nails into the table, Vergil let out a frustrated grunt and rocked backwards so hard that the table lifted off the ground for a moment. It came down hard a second later, a loud clatter rattling the nearby window pane. The cock slipped in another blessed inch. Vergil purred like a drunken fool until the sound morphed into a sharp cry. He stared up at the ceiling as Arkham yanked his head back at a harsh angle, his hair locked in a brutal fist so tightly that Vergil felt a few strands separate from his scalp. 

“Do  _ not  _ do that again,” Arkham delivered in a tight, deadly whisper. “If she comes back up here again I’ll stop and leave you here unsatisfied.”

Vergil bared his teeth. Forget the pain, he told himself as he tore his hair free from Arkham’s hand. A rainfall of silver fluttered to the tabletop, the wane, dying light of day glinting off it like spider silk. He glowered at the mess it made and snapped, “And here I thought I was the only target of your undivided attention.” 

“Don’t be petulant,” Arkham said breezily, so disturbingly coiffed that it made the very marrow in Vergil’s bones reject the implication of who was controlling who here. “I have plans for the evening, Vergil. Plans that must be honored if we are to continue on unimpeded.”

Of course. “Of course you do. Dinner with the family,” he mocked, clenching and shifting, bucking impatiently even as Arkham forced him bodily onto the table. There was no friction, no pleasure like this. How dare this human deprive him? “How could I forget?”

“Even a being like you must have your shortcomings somewhere.” 

Shortcomings. Did such a man have any right to speak of such things to Vergil? He was the one lying, the one cheating. Was that better, he wondered? Was it better to pretend to be a sheep when one was a wolf? 

“Does she know?” Vergil asked. He aimed for nonchalance and felt it come out anything but. 

Arkham paused in his torment. “Pardon?”

Vergil turned his head and snarled at the human behind him, “Does your wife know the nature of your  _ research?” _

Arkham raised a brow and looked towards the walls of books, the plethora of scholarship he had spent who knows how long amassing beneath the nose of his wife, his daughter, his family. “She knows the work I do is important,” he answered easily, only a little winded despite the flush of exertion burning the crests of Vergil’s cheeks. His cock was like a pulsating rod inside Vergil. For all its stillness, he somehow only felt it more intensely. “What she knows or doesn’t know is meaningless, isn’t it? We all reside in our own little worlds, Vergil. Would it be kinder to make her privy to mine?” He rocked forward with calculated intent, spearing Vergil until he couldn’t help but let out a choked little gasp. “To  _ ours?”  _

The gasp turned into a breathless, airy laugh. Vergil let his head rest on his buckled arms, his eyes locked on the wide window in front of him. The sun was beginning to set over the city, painting “their” world with shadows, with darkness. The streets so far below them would empty steadily, humans returning home to their families, their children, their dinners. Such a thing was so mundane, so disgustingly sentimental. The memories he had of those experiences, of inhabiting that little world…

They filled him with a warmth that felt hollow, empty with the loss and bitter from the knowledge that he would never have that again. His world was a cold one. A hateful one. And Arkham…

Arkham willingly fucked him anyway. Fucked him with his wife just outside the door, reminding him of everything he seemed so eager to sacrifice for the sake of something more. Something powerful. 

A bevy of bitter disgust rose up from the pit of Vergil’s stomach. He bared his teeth and snarled even as the pace started back up again, more intense and punishing than before. How powerful did that make him, he wondered, to entice a man with everything to trade it all for  _ more?  _ The disgust was amorphous as it blended with his jagged, hateful pride. Kernels of pleasure took root in the growing mess. His lust intensified. Perhaps his hatred did too. 

“Exquisite,” Arkham panted, bearing down on Vergil until his shaking, trembling legs bore their combined weight. “This body of yours. So strong, so perfect. Feel how you tighten around me, swallowing… me… whole—”

Vergil threw back his head and cried out pitifully as Arkham tore himself free and painted his back with stripes of hot, wet come. The man groaned lowly, guttural like the animal he tried so hard to mask behind his feigned courtesy and decorum. His hand came down around Vergil’s hip before he could manage to gather the breath to swear. Skilled fingers slid back inside his empty heat. 

“This world of ours is built only for two, Vergil,” Arkham heaved, his breath hot, sticky, damp against Vergil’s sweat-slicked neck. His hand moved like a piston, fingers buried deep, scraping his inner walls, spreading him and spearing him and weakening his knees until the table alone kept Vergil from collapsing. “Just us. Just us. Demons we shall be, ruling in the depths of Hell. With this hand I shall open the gates. With this  _ heat,  _ we shall reign eternal.”

White fog shrouded Vergil’s vision. He couldn’t see the room, the table, the window in front of him. Those words… Those promises… They spoke to a part of him that craved pleasure, hungered for satisfaction. But how much of it was real? How much could he trust? One reality resided on the floor below them, seated around a dinner table and waiting patiently for its last denizen to come down. No one could straddle that line. They couldn’t, not if they were sincere. Not if they were honest. 

“The son of Sparda shall have his birthright,” Arkham recited, his hand moving so fast that Vergil whined, shrill and deaf to the sound. He curled them expertly, his experience coming through with every pump of his wrist. Vergil’s head spun, drunk on the thought of where that practice had come from. The tight knot in his stomach grew tighter. Did he hate Arkham more for that? For using him the way he used his wife? 

A wet, humid tongue lapped at his ear. The fingers rocked against that spot inside him that sent a wave of slick gushing down his thighs. In a low, devastating voice, Arkham hissed, “And then we shall reap the true benefits of our alliance.”

Vergil came around Arkham’s fingers as he pondered the thought of trusting a man so willing to fuck a demon with his wife setting the table in the other room. He’d never hated himself more, even as his legs finally gave out beneath him and sent him to the floor. 

He thought of that dinner table, of a room he had never seen but still looked indistinguishable from the one in the manor, his mother at the right of the empty head seat and waiting, ever so patiently, for her missing family to come to eat. He thought of their position now, Arkham’s come dripping down his bare back, the man’s fingers buried to the knuckle inside his heat. Vergil’s eyes fluttered shut. His amulet dragged noisily across the table before swinging over the edge and thudding against his heaving chest. 

The cold was a shock. Clarity was slow to return, but one thing was abundantly clear: trusting a man like this would only lead to betrayal. There was a pattern before his closed eyes. He’d be a fool to ignore it, no matter how good this particular distraction always felt. 

Cooling semen dripped down Vergil’s back as they both fought to catch their breath. Vergil opened his eyes and looked up, only to find Arkham already buttoned up and presentable. He colored messily when the man did as he had done before, sucking his fingers back into his mouth as if Vergil’s flavor was too sublime to squander on a rag. Arkham didn’t seem to notice his shame though; his head turned towards the door as he clearly made as if to leave. 

“Leaving so soon?” Vergil rasped, throat too abused to come off as anything but what it was. And here he had thought the man had come up here for the sake of “camaraderie.”

Arkham didn’t bother to turn around. “Appearances must be maintained if we are to succeed in our plans,” he explained. 

Vergil couldn’t see the point. “You plan on killing her anyway, don’t you?” He gripped the edge of the table and lifted himself into a more comfortable sprawl, bracing a shoulder against the table leg as he stared daggers at Arkham’s stiff back. “What’s one missed dinner in the grand scheme of things?”

“Has my company suddenly become more pleasurable for you?”

Vergil scoffed. “The opposite.”

Arkham glanced at him over his shoulder as he moved towards the door, unlocking it with a pointed  _ click.  _ Vergil yanked down his shirt to cover his chest from sight, and the man smirked at him as he opened the door. 

“Do clean yourself up before tonight,” he suggested airily. “I’ll return in a few hours and we can begin the next stage of our preparations.”

Vergil glared at him. Arkham didn’t see it. He slipped through the door and Vergil didn’t have the energy to bare his teeth and  _ make  _ him see it. What a disgusting creature he had aligned himself with. The mess on his back was beginning to dry, and Arkham  _ knew  _ that Vergil would be unable to properly clean himself until after the family went to bed. 

He would sit up here for hours with that man’s filth on his skin. 

Vergil closed his eyes and curled his fingers into the carpet. The door shut without another word. 

What a disgusting, honor-less man. Vergil may feel filthy, but at least he knew the truth. A nasty, twisted smile teased his lips as he thought of Arkham sitting down for dinner with his family after that. Of playing family with that wife of his. Of pretending that all was well. That nothing was amiss just above their heads. It was a disgusting ruse to play. Still, Vergil felt warm. He felt… powerful. To have ruined a family so absolutely without them even knowing… 

Would his wife smell it on him? Probably not. 

She wasn’t a demon, after all. Her little world wouldn’t account for such things. 

**Author's Note:**

> lol that was fun huh? if you liked it and wanna see more of me, check me out on twitter @tdcloud_writes for more dmc funtimes and you can also check out my website over on tdcloudofficial.com to see the kinda stuff i write when im not dabbling in the fanfic side of things. until next time!


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